


We Need To Talk About Eliot...It’s Mostly Good This Time!

by Remy_Etienne_Creed



Series: We Need To Talk About Eliot [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: AU: No Fillory, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Difficult Decisions, Discussion of Abortion, Drug Abuse Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, I Torture Characters Please Take Them Away From Me, M/M, Married Life, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, Relationship Discussions, Same-Sex Marriage, Threesome - F/F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Etienne_Creed/pseuds/Remy_Etienne_Creed
Summary: Fourth and Final Part of the series We Need To Talk About Eliot, the rest of which will he posted here eventually. Quentin and Eliot’s lives have changed so much since their Brakebills days. Now at 29 and 27 they’ve both become wildly successful. Margo and Eliot with ME their clothing line and Quentin with his video game design company Witch and Fool. They’ve been married for four years now and life is about to change even more. They thought they had their act together but they find out they’ve still got some more growing up to do. Because now...it’s not just them. They’ve been through so much together...Eliot’s detox which led to them ending up together and all the problems life threw at them after. But mental illness is a never ending struggle. They just have to learn to be okay with that as they grow as a married couple. Turns out the best coping mechanism has always been each other.





	We Need To Talk About Eliot...It’s Mostly Good This Time!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is very drafty and like skipping around time wise. Like I’m posting the last part of the series first. But oh well. I’m posting it to force myself to write more of it because it’s amazing. I’m clinically depressed and my boyfriend has clinical anxiety so we know what we’re talking about. I’ve been hospitalized for attempted suicide before. I’m saying this to assure you all mental health issues discussed here are from the perspective of someone who actually has them and as a warning that I’m probably working through some of my own trauma. Well as promised it’s the one where Eliot’s pregnant. Mpreg is life. Boys can like it too. Trigger warnings for intense discussions of mental illnesses, depiction of illness, future body horror, references to the recovery process of an addict.

“Fuck,” Eliot hissed. 4 am. Time to go throw up. Christ, this was the worst. Thank God the little fucker would at least be cute. 

“Are you feeling sick?”, Quentin whispered, somehow awake and aware enough to put a ‘comforting’ hand on his shoulder.

Eliot jumped, heart pounding even though they went through this pretty much every night now. Quentin’s weird ESP about his well-being never got less creepy. “Jesus Christ, Q! Do you ever sleep?!” 

“Insomnia,” Quentin lied. Although he did have bags under his eyes so maybe he wasn’t lying. Either way he’d succeeded in getting Eliot to feel bad for him.

“Sorry,” Eliot gave him a quick apologetic glance before going back to joking. Quentin got...weird when he was sick and the situation had to be handled extremely delicately or he would end up wanting to shoot his husband. Not to kill, of course, just to get him to go away for a few minutes. “Weren’t watching me sleep, were you?”. He gave a half-hearted little laugh that cut out when Quentin gave him a guilty look. “You didn’t.”

He did. 

Eliot sighed deeply, with a facepalm that became him trying to rub away the headache he could feel coming on. “How many times have I told you that Twilight and any ‘love’ story like it is gauche as shit? Not to mention played out. You’re better than this.”

Q reached over and turned on the light and Eliot simultaneously appreciated and resented him. He slapped a hand over his eyes. Light was doing nothing for the headache and the nausea but seeing as he’d probably have to run to the bathroom soon...not the worst idea. 

“Shit! Sorry!”, Quentin apologized-unnecessary- and put his hand over Eliot’s eyes too- completely necessary. “Just...you know...soon right?”, he explained. Eliot nodded with a groan. The boy did have the schedule down if nothing else. Quentin scooted closer and put his arm around Eliot. “Are you sure I’m better than that?”, he teased lightly.

Eliot kept his eyes closed but gave him a small smile. “You better be.”

“Come on, you don’t find it the least bit sexy?”, Quentin laughed. He nosed at Eliot’s neck before saying in what had to be the worst attempt at an accent in all of human history, “I vant to suck your blood.” 

Eliot swatted him away though he was laughing too now. “That’s Dracula you uncultured, swine! Why am I with you again?”, he totally didn’t giggle.

Quentin pressed a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling closer, snaking an arm around his waist. As he did so often these days he rested a hand lightly on Eliot’s -still flat! Quentin was just a sap- stomach. “Because you’re a nerd in denial and I’m your only means of self expression?”, he joked.

“Ah. Yes. That.”, Eliot snarked though they both knew it wasn’t entirely untrue. He laid his hand over Quentin’s because, okay, maybe he was a tiny bit of a sap too. Hormones. Probably. 

“We could always ask him you know,” Quentin was thinking aloud again.

“Who?”, Eliot laughed, though he had always found his boy’s dreamy nature adorable.

“Dracula. Vampires are real, remember? Julia’s met one,” Q replied matter-of-factly.

Eliot’s smile grew wider. Ah, his little nerd boy. Even he was impressed when he managed to respond drily, “Truly one of the most unfortunate things I have ever heard.”.

“Yeah, Yeah, I get it. Vampires suck.”, his dork of a husband laughed and then paused waiting to be swatted upside the head again.

Eliot wanted to. Q deserved it for a pun that bad. Instead he just moaned, “Oh God.”

“Come on, El. It wasn’t that bad.”, Quentin whined in mock hurt.

“Nope! ‘Oh God!’ as in ‘I have to go now.’.”, Eliot answered as quickly as he could because these sheets were Italian silk and a present from Bambi so no way in hell would he puke on them. She’d kill him. Feeling himself start to gag Eliot clamped a hand over his mouth and practically leapt out of bed. “I have to go two minutes ago.”, he corrected.

Running seemed like a very bad idea so he had to make do with speedwalking, too afraid to take his hand off his mouth. Unfortunately, it made it easy for Quentin to catch up to him pretty much banishing any hopes he had of privacy. Well then. Fuck him why the hell did he even want to be around for this? Eliot had to be. He’d never understood Quentin’s need to suffer alongside him. Which of them was that helping?!

POV SWITCH

Quentin’s heart was breaking. Like utterly snapped in two. He couldn’t stand it when Eliot was sick. Even now when it was a side effect of something unbelievably good he just couldn’t take it. Having seen Elliot suffer so much in their time together he should probably be used to it. It was just how he was. If he loved something- or someone- they were his everything.

He winced as Eliot heaved. God, it looked even worse than he could have imagined. Eliot was holding his own bangs back with one hand, the other gripping the toilet seat so hard it’d gone even whiter than normal. What the hell was he doing standing up, didn’t he know he was going to hurt his back like that? Quentin made a sympathetic noise so he wouldn’t startle him and made a beeline for him. “El, let me do that!”, he insisted, batting the hand away from his bangs to smooth them back himself. He rubbed a hand along the long curve of Eliot’s spine soothingly. 

Eliot shot him a look before going back to the toilet desperately. 

“You should be kneeling, you know. So you won’t hurt your back,” Quentin pointed out softly. He sat down, pulling Eliot in front of him. That way he could hold him too.

Eliot coughed and spit, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. His shoulders were so tense, so Quentin took the opportunity to rub them. After he managed to catch his breath Eliot glared at him. “Are you trying to tell me I’m not throwing up the right way?”, he asked sharply.

“No, not wrong-“, Quentin started before Eliot cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“I want you to think really hard about that,” Eliot hissed. Translation: You’re on thin ice. 

Quentin tried to defuse the situation, “The book says this way is easier-“

“Fuck the book!”, Eliot groaned. “This way seems to be working fine.”

Quentin finally took the hint to shut up. He pulled Eliot back against him, stroking his hair.

“No....not done.”, Eliot mumbled pushing Quentin away. He gagged and pulled himself back over the toilet. “Oh fuck,” he whined. Quentin reached out to lay a hand on his back but Eliot slapped it away. “C-Can you not?”. He dry heaved and cursed under his breath. “Ugh, I just want to go back to sleep!”.

Quentin frowned, eyes misty, but he didn’t touch. “It’ll be over soon,” he promised willing to do absolutely anything to keep that promise but feeling, again, powerless to help his husband.

Eliot nodded. “Fuck it. I haven’t done this since Brakebills but I’m so fucking over this.” And then, horrifyingly nonchalant, he shoved two slender fingers down his throat. He choked around them for a second or two before pulling them back and vomiting up a little more. “Yeah. That’s better,” he said weakly and was about to do it again before Quentin grabbed his hand away.

“What the hell?!?”, he cried, squeezing the hand in his own instinctively and regretting it when Eliot looked back at him with wide eyes. He’d been louder than he meant to then. It hadn’t been his intention to scare Eliot but if that was what it took. Who the hell just did things like that?! Fucking Eliot. Four years in and his husband still managed to shock him. 

“What the hell right back, Quentin?!”, Eliot’s voice trembled as he snapped back at him. Quentin wasn’t sure of exactly what emotion Eliot was struggling with but figured it couldn’t be good. 

He expected to get back as good as he gave but Eliot still just looked at him like a deer in headlights and it was so uncharacteristic that Quentin really did regret it. The long, slender fingers had gone white in his grip, which made him feel like even more of a dick. Eliot wouldn’t mind that part. He’d admitted on several occasions to liking it when Quentin was rough with him. But Quentin himself couldn’t stand it. In an apology he brought the hand to his lips kissing it gently. 

Usually true apologies weren’t necessary between them but it looked like something like it was in order now. Eliot only responded by shuddering slightly and managing to bite back a heave. He looked like he’d be sick again at any moment which wasn’t so strange now but the glassy eyes were. Seeing that, Quentin dropped the hand completely. 

It only got worse when Eliot wrapped his arms tightly around himself. “What the fuck was that?!”, he hissed. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?!”

Quentin saw he really had. Eliot’s eyes were misty too now and that was something dangerous. Fuck, he was an asshole.

Neither of them had brought it up yet- and Quentin kind of got the vibe he shouldn’t- but the last few weeks had been especially rough on Eliot. It hadn’t been planned so there hadn’t exactly been time to do it the proper way but once they’d found out Eliot had insisted on quitting his meds cold turkey. It’d been against Quentin’s advice but Eliot was unwilling to bend on his control of his body for anyone. Not even his husband. And he’d pointed out that after getting sober anything would be easy for him. And he’d been right. That part had been easy. But then Eliot’s depression had taken on a paranoia that had never been there. It was obvious that it had something to do with the baby but even Quentin had enough social awareness to know not to touch that until Eliot decided to.

It’d left him restless and jumpy in a way he wasn’t familiar with. Anxiety was more Quentin’s affliction. They both knew it was eating him and they couldn’t keep this up much longer but so far Eliot had managed. He hadn’t cried because he never did but Quentin knew it was coming and that when it did it would be a Big Deal. And what was a big deal to Eliot was catastrophic to everyone else. And like hell would Quentin let that moment be now. His husband did not need to add a mental breakdown to being woken up at 4:00 AM to vomit up everything left inside him.

So he just apologized before anything could happen. “I’m sorry, El, really. But please don’t do that.”

“Why?”, and Eliot actually managed to look back at him blankly like this were the most normal thing in the world and Quentin was the one being crazy here.

Quentin was honestly shocked into silence for a good few seconds. How the hell Eliot always managed to turn things around on him was simply beyond his capability to understand. “It’s just...not good.”

“How? It’s faster. It’s easier. It’s less shitty,” he argued rationally and how he could still manage to do that baffled Quentin even more. 

“But you shouldn’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“...Alright then. You do it for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Make sure to read the other parts once they’re up. Thanks to beta reader and boyfriend, ectoProctologist.


End file.
